Pitchbright
by HVK
Summary: Request for Botgal on AO3 and Tumblr; Porrim and Kankri having a good old fashioned blackrom pitch. In the midst of some heated rivalry romance, Kankri has some musing on his own troubled life, the nature of what it actually means to be a rainbow drinker like Porrim, and how to just annoy the heck out of her for maximum flirting.


Written as a request for Botgal on Ao3 and Tumblr; who wanted a good Porrim/Kankri blackrom romp. I ultimately decided to push my personal ability to write smut on something that i could handle, say, actually posting on here. Nothing _explicit_ happens but... y'know, stuff be going on.

A bit of clarification; there's some AU stuff here regarding Kankri's backstory, having to do with Kankri having an especially abusive culler; check out Botgal's work on her sites for more clarificiation, and it's dark as heck.

Disclaimer: I do not own Homestuck or anything associated with the franchise.

* * *

"You are certain of this, are you?" Porrim asked, and her throat rumbled noisily. It wasn't exactly a sound that matched the slightly unsure tone of her voice. What she said, and what was driving her were almost two completely different things.

Kankri was perceptive, even if too filled with all-consuming anger to filter it properly. But he was getting better at it, and he suspected that Porrim's drives weren't exactly in synch with what she thought. People thought that rainbow drinkers were romantic figures; dashing and tragic beings driven to drink blood and tenderly lapping at the veins of a lover.

"I am certain," Kankri said, laying against a human-style bed built for Porrim's size, because expecting her to be able to sit on a couch built for the scale of him or a human was absurd. She was far too tall, much too large, and too thickly voluptuous (and in the special sense of trolls, who tended to be more extreme in their body types than humans were) to fit on a human couch. He doubted her legs would even be able to avoid slipping off such a smaller bit of furniture.

She lay atop him, not so much straddling him as her thighs, enormously big and extremely firm, squeezed the entirety of his lower body. They were both dressed, if a touch lightly, but their excitement was obvious. Porrim's bulge coiled against his belly and thigh, teasing at the general area of his nook. He was doing the same, and it was clear that his bulge was proportionately larger than hers, relative to the respective sizes of their bodies. She shifted her hips, slow and heavy and only a hint of the urgency she was keeping hidden, and he panted, unable to stop himself from sliding against her. Coils of muscle bigger than his arm kept him pinned and he made a good show of pretending to try to wriggle free without actually putting any effort into it.

Porrim smiled faintly, the thickness of her lips tinted a brilliant jade green. Already she'd left a trail of lip-marks over his front, mainly trailing down towards his waist, and with a few bite marks where she'd taken the opportunity to indulge some _other_ hungers. Even with her towering over and around him, her bulge slithering fiercely underneath her dress, and her form situated at an angle that he actually couldn't see much of her face over her large rumblespheres (a posture that was hard to maintain and Porrim worked hard to get the look _just_ right), he knew the need seething in her, stored up until the right moment to unleash it all, and he felt the impish urge to stoke it.

He leaned up, forward, raising himself as much as he could. Seeing an opening, Porrim loosened her leg's grip of him, and as soon as he was up enough to be able to look her in the eyes thanks to an adjustment in angle, she clamped her thighs firmly down on him again. "Trying to escape?" she said, raising an eyebrow and trying to get into character. The Seductive Head Rainbow Drinker; it was a persona she enjoyed carrying out in these little games, much as she liked him to be the Snarling Bloodbag Who Won't Own Up to It. Kankri, for his part, liked to tweak her snout a bit in these games, push it as far as he could, and be constantly pleased at the influence he had over her.

Control. Not being just a toy to someone, not the mutant prize. This was very important to him, and she tailored their games accordingly.

The shift of her hips so that as much of her was pressing against him as possible, the hitch of her breath as she felt him writhe beneath her, her teeth visibly lengthening as he smirked at her; oh yes. She had it bad. Even now he could feel her adjusting her grip on him so she was feeling as much of him as possible and exploring him through touch alone. She knew all his body intimately, better than anyone save Latula and perhaps Meenah: the size and ridges of his bulge along with the curious aspects of such, all the little differences from a normal bulge from his mutations and the sea-dweller aspects that cropped up all over his body, and especially the _effects_ of mutantblood genetic material. It heightened the senses, turning a touch into a skin-searing dance of ecstatic extremes, and ramped up her already fearsome libido into pitch passion demanded that claws be dragged, his body be positively _ravaged,_ and it said something about her iron-clad control over every slight gesture and body language that he was one of the few people who could actually tell she was so wired up.

He would never have actually told her this, because it would spoil the lovely blackrom game between them and a main rule was that you had to make everything needlessly complex and figure it out for themselves, but he admired her self-control. He really did. Kankri had not had a pleasant life; he intimately knew all the most terrible and vile things that could happen to a troll with a... _bad_ culler.

('Don't think about that', he told himself, trying not to think about purple lips and alien thoughts slicing into his brain and feeling like he was a dool, all porcelain and false perfection and someone's property. 'Focus on Porrim'. He untensed, leaning into her comfortingly heavy form, and perhaps it wasn't a coincidence that trolls viewed a motherly form like Porrim's as protective and fierce.)

And, because of that, he valued self-control above almost any other virtue. Not acting on the first impulse that came into your mind. Forcing yourself to be better than your instincts wanted you to be. He'd spent his life caging himself, the anger hissing out of every slight gap even when he was trying to be kind. And so Porrim, grappling between the constant pulls of her own monstrous hungers and the demands of being a jadeblood... it was admirable.

No point in telling her that. It'd spoil the game.

He looked up at her now, obsidian-dark skin shimmering like water under sunlight and beneath it came the pale glow; fearsomely bright, and a primal part of his mind recoiled in terror. Her tattoos tinted it a pale and almost sickly green, and this glow was like a mark of the unnatural, the fearsome, the frightening. She didn't look, right then and there, like a troll.

Porrim looked like a monster.

He also understood the way she gripped his arm so tightly and then made her claws to retract out of his skin, her bulge coiling into his nook with such need that it actually hurt before she remembered herself, or when she kissed his neck and he could _feel_ her jaws struggling not to bite deep-

He gazed into Porrim's eyes, a hint of jade just visible behind the glow, and he saw a friend. He saw a kismesis. But he also saw something out of forgotten dayfire stories, a nightmare out of the most blood-drenched and fearful days of their history. He'd seen her ripping imps to pieces and screaming her frustration that they had no blood to drink or bones to crack; the struggle between actually using those saws or to just tear with teeth and claw and horn.

'This is Porrim Maryam', he reminded himself, trying to focus on certain details. 'She is not a monster.' Concentrate on the long and towering horns, so tall that it emphasized her maturity; don't think about how every inch of them is cruel and hooked, how she could drive them into his chest and yank out bloody streams of flesh. He raised a hand and traced his claws against the carvings

Her claws just brushed against his chin, sliding under the soft plates and lingering there. The sharp edges rubbed against the borders between the chitinous lines of his jaw and the softer flesh just tinted a shade of red too bright to afford him the dignity of self-determination – and for a moment Kankri was _glad_ Beforus was gone before he remembered that he ought to mourn all it could have been, but the system that would see him at the mercy of everyone around him was gone, and he did not mourn that – and her claws dug in _just_ right, at the places where his underdeveloped armor had enough give for him to feel the faint sting of her scratch.

"Softshelled," Porrim chuckled, with just the edge of a growl in there. And a hunger there too, something monstrous and terrible that would make even Alternia's bloodthirsty populace afraid. Rainbow drinkers had been fetishized in Beforus, and objects of morbid fascination in Alternia, and for ll the differences both worlds had an awareness of the _danger_ of rainbow drinkers. Kankri looked up, standing just a bit back so he could actually see Porrim's face properly over the softer edges of her own body.

Light shimmered from nearly every inch of her, seeping from underneath her skin and pulsing through her outer armor. What should have been as pitch as her feelings gleamed almost white instead, bordering on yellow tinged with her jade blood, and the effect was _eerie._ Light was dangerous. Brightness was death, and Porrim was _dangerous._

Perhaps, Kankri mused as he dragged his blunt claws alongside her palm in a pattern that made her growls turn to a faint purring, it was something to bear in mind. Porrim tried to act like a culler to all of them, soothing the little nasty edges between them and ease their arguments, calm the flares of violence or vacilation between them and keep them on some kind of an even keel, doing her best to maintain a level head, and yet missing so many little details and pretending that they were not there at all if she only saw them afterwards. And for all of that, she _hungered_ in a way that was most inappropriate for a culler, even if she was just acting like one.

Porrim was a killer. He looked up again, over her curvaceous and thick form, and it was easy to mistake the swells of muscle for just more softness. That her broad hips could power a stride or leap to catapult herself into him, fangs first. That it was so easy to think of those long claws, delicately embroidered with faint traceries of the precious materials appropriate to her station, flicking into his belly and disemboweling him with hardly any effort at all. And of those fangs, just barely visible behind heavy lips quirked into a taunting smirk, meeting in his throat. He could just imagine the faint click of them coming together, her throat flexing where she twisted up and took his throat with it.

He did not have to imagine that at all. Frustrated with curiosity, he had once gone into the dream bubbles to see for himself the answer to a question no one had really wanted to know: how often, across the time lines, had Porrim actually wound up severely injuring him, or even killing him? A vacillation between pitch and pale that, with troll tempers and Porrim's repressed instincts and urges,got too violent. Or Porrim just _slipping_ enough that the rainbow drinker's need to feed mixed with her own feelings for Kankri in the worst way possible. Or a falling out between them that he, even at his moments of pretending he was better than he was so he didn't have to think about the horrors of his grubhood, knew he could never possibly come out ahead in.

He had seen the results for himself. He did not have the heart to tell Porrim how badly it could go wrong between them, or how _often._ He did realize why, at last, Porrim frightened him from the tips of his horns to the stubbly swimmer's claws at his toes. Why he might jerk away at the slight shift of a momvement tht looked too much like a sudden spring, or he was so keenly attentive of where her claws were.

He was a Seer. He remembered, however distantly, all the ways his blood had been spilled. Porrim did not. After much thought, Kankri decided that it would be best not to say anything. Even a kismesis wouldn't want to know bout all the times they murdered you.

He extended a hand up. Past the muscular arm, just barely grazing across spiralling tattoos indicating her rank before she had left the brooding caverns to live her own life. He slid his blunt claws against her arm in the way he knew she liked, and she gave a rumbling purr. The cadence was right, the sound was lovely, but something about it wasn't quite trollish. Well, he knew all about not being _exactly_ what conventional wisdom held a troll should be.

She relaxed, back arching and hair rippling as muscles smoothed out. Impishly, his claw slid out towards the armored edge of a large rumblesphere. His wrist twitched, his fingers crooked at just the right angle for maximum irritation-

 _Smack!_

Porrim surged back, incidentlly slamming her broad hips into his body, to his delighted cheer. "What the hell, Kankri!?" Porrim snarled, white shining more fearsomely, eyes going pure yellow and her teeth bared like daggers.

Kankri smirked. "I can't have any vacciliation, dear Porrim," he said, voice calm and with just a hint of teasing.

"You complete ass." She twisted her hips in, bulge grinding against him so hard that the pleasure mixed into something like pain, but sweet, and so deliciously _pitch._

"Oh..." he gasped in, out, tried to find his breath. "I know you like it."

She chuckled nastily, light flaring even more brightly, so much that he had to shut his eyes in self-defense. Her hands settled onto his shoulders, digging in, almost enough to draw his mutant, heretic blood, this close to hurting...

Not holding back at all, save for concern about what a rainbow drinker's strength could do to someone so much more frail. But it wasn't about blood, and her whole body trembled with the effort of restraint. Porrim wasn't holding back just because he was small or a mutant or she thoguht he was too delictae to touch...

Not treating him like he was made of glass was more important than he could readily explain. He conveyed his gratitude with a hip movement, a bit of bulge twisting that elicted a satisfied rumble from Porrim even through her angry hissing.

"Oh, you complete pain in the ass," she said, but with relish.

"Bite me, Porrim," He dared her, menaing it in the colloiquial sense, before he realized his mistake.

She grinned, or perhaps bared her monster's teeth. Her lips were heavy and full, and should not have shown her teeth to such fearsome effect. They seemed to lengthen in her jaw, forcing her mouth open. "If you insist," she said sweetly, lowering her mouth to his neck with sudden speed, and in a way that suggested that she would stop if he wanted.

He did not particularly want her to stop; in fact he wanted her very much to do it, and as they had negotiated, lack of overt fight was a signal in itself, and her lips pressed against his neck in just the spot she knew he liked, kissing down on him. Her body pressed fiercely against him, her weight pushing him deeper down, and then her teeth met his warm skin and just gently bit down, and through.

He managed to repress a slight sigh, raising his hands up to dig into her sides, which was about as far as he could reach, producing a throaty rumble from Porrim.

Pitch, he thought with a slightly delirious thrill as she drank from him and made some very interesting noises all the while. _Pitch, not too delictae not to treat roughly, yes, YES, good_.

Things, thereafter, shortly became rather louder. Latula, who had the bad timing to accept Kankri as a roommte, shoved a pillow over her horns and grumbled, doing her best to ignore the noise.

"Of course I had to get them together," She complained later to Meenah, who just laughed.


End file.
